Rude sea! hadst thou no sealed charge,
That fearful crew to spare,

To mark, when sank the fragile barge,
Thy Lord's beloved there?

Yea, tho' thou foam above, below,
Thy bounds are set-thus far may'st go,
Farther thou may'st not dare:

In vain thy billows course their way—
Saved are the souls! Disgorge thy prey!

And yet, methinks, when Paul once more
Sought thy rude waves to greet,
The rippling waters coursed the shore,
To kiss his sainted feet-

But he nor trusted thee, nor feared;
Not at thy pleasure safe he steered,
Or 'gainst thy scowlings beat:
He knew Jehovah ruled, as slaves,
Thy myriad host of wanton waves.

He blamed thee not-when from thy breast Thou heavedst him on the sand;

Bound to obey his Lord's behest,

He kissed his Master's hand:

1 Job xxxviii. 11.

He blessed thee not-when soft thy smile
Beam'd bright on Malta's rock-girt isle,
And wooed him from her strand,
With murmur soft, and calm blue eye,
Once more thy heaving gulphs to try.

He blessed thee not, when swift the prow
Shot hither like a dart,

When now stretched Rhegium, and now
Puteoli's ocean-mart-

He knew the gentle hand that led

And smoothed thee like a mother's bed-
Unstable as thou art,-

And placed the sands to bound the tide,
A curb upon thy crested pride! 1

1

The hand that scoop'd thy waste of waves, Had stilled their angry roar,

And, day by day, o'er yawning graves,

Guided his ocean-car:

And the same hand would shield him still,

From every snare, from every ill;

Till, led by Bethlehem's star, He gained, with an expanded sail,

Where wrecking storms no more prevail.

1 Jer. v. 22.

O for a faith! the faith of Paul,-
To rise above things seen;

To cease to feel and mourn that all
Are not as might have been:
That ocean, air, the land, the fire,
Might aye celestial thoughts inspire,

And from earth's pleasures wean—
Then all I think, or hear, or see,
Were token from my God to me.

And thou, fair sea!-for be thy form,
As spread before my sight,

Or heaved and frothed abroad by storm,
Or gemmed with twinklings bright-
I love thee for thy Master's sake,
And hail the thoughts thy waves awake,
Thoughts clothed in mystic might,
That He, who rules in heaven above,
Loves me, his child,-for He is Love.

One hour upon this lonely shore,
Where Paul before me trod,
Hath lent me wings in hope to soar,
And commune with my God:

Oh would this fresh'ning southern breeze,
That murmurs gently thro' the trees,

And spreads their scents abroad,

Bear hither, as my longings rise,

The loaded gales of Paradise!

What is Life's course, by day and night,

But an unstable sea,

Now wrestling in malicious might,
Now frothed in sportive glee-
Why should I heed its restless wiles,
Its heaving wrath, or twinkling smiles,
Its frowns or revelry-

I heed nor blame-it has its hour-
The tool of an Almighty power!

O give me grace, my gracious King,
To take, as from thine hand,
The woes its boisterous tempests bring,
The comforts of its strand-

Then every breeze shall echo, 'Come,'
And every billow waft me home,

To Canaan's blissful land,

Where rolling thunders cease to roar,

And the tossed soul rests evermore!